It's late night Thursday
by zombie room
Summary: Scott finds Derek in a bar.


A/N: Future fic or AU depending on how you feel.

* * *

Scott finds Derek in a bar. So close to the city limits it might as well be the next town over. Derek is up front, elbows resting on the counter, hands wrapped around his drink. Neither the bartender or Derek look at Scott. Derek stiffens ever so slightly, fingers tightening around his glass.

Scott slides into the empty chair next to Derek's.

"How did you find me?" Derek asks, lifting his glass and tilts it so the ice clinks together. He's only focusing on the yellow refractions it casts on the counter, and avoids looking in Scott's direction at all.

The bartender is eyeing Scott, but Scott ignores him. "Isaac texted me."

Derek sips his drink. The condensation leaves his bottom lip shiny and wet. He sets the glass down, right on the ring of water it's left. His tongue flicks out, swiping across his lip and Scott can't help but follow the movement with his eyes. Scott almost remembers the feeling of those lips against his, a residual sense he wishes he could erase. But not really.

"I should've known he'd crack," Derek says. "Kid always does." His nostrils flare as he sighs, heavy and long.

Scott resists putting his hand on Derek's arm, but his fingers twitch. It's like trying to fight against instinct. "It's not his fault."

Derek signals to the bartender for another drink. When he settles back in his chair there's a new distance between them. "It never is."

Silence stretches between them, and Scott can pick out snippets of conversations from the rest of the patrons.

"Why are you here? We broke up for a reason. I'm a ghost." Derek says.

"I know that. I'm not here to get you back." Derek's breath hitches, like someone's punched him and he's hiding the pain. Scott lets him hide it, saves them both the embarrassment. "I came here to make sure you were okay."

Derek laughs, ugly and hoarse, and when it dies down he looks at Scott for the first time. Scott can still read him like a book: angry and heart-broken and distraught. "I always admired that about you. That you were so good through and through." He looks away, to the display of bottles on the wall. "Now I just wish you were angry with me."

"You think if I made you bleed, it'd hurt less inside?" Scott asks.

Derek shrugs and Scott can't help but notice that his broad shoulders don't seem so powerful anymore. Instead, they seem bowed, like the world is slowly taking Derek Hale down.

"Believe me, if I thought punching you would make me feel better, I would. In reality, it didn't do me or the wall much good."

Derek smiles. "You wouldn't punch me."

Scott breathes out, and it comes out as a little laugh. "You're right."

He leans in closer to Derek, and Derek lets him. The alcohol almost masks Derek's scent, but Scott can still smell the hint of lilacs and wet grass. "I already miss you," he finally says, giving in and squeezing Derek's forearm.

A moment later, Derek's hand comes up to cover Scott's. He makes no other movements, and Scott listens to the shallowness of their breathing. It's such a short distance between them, and he leans in, resting his forehead against Derek's temple. Derek remains still, and Scott kisses his cheekbone.

Derek's hand falls away, and Scott pats Derek's arm and lets go. They're both staring at each other now, and Scott can feel his resolve to leave waver. Derek does him a favour and goes back to gazing into his scotch. Scott fishes out a twenty from his pocket, places it on the counter next to the napkins, and pulls his hood up, preparing for the cold. He nods to the bartender, then turns to leave.

He's almost out the door when he hears Derek speak. "I miss you too." It's almost too quiet, but Derek says it so clearly he must know Scott will hear it.

The door shuts behind him. Scott looks up at the night sky, holds his breath until he can make out the faint outline of Equeeleus. Almost a minute passes, then his breath finally tumbles out in great big puffs, blocking the stars once more.

He shivers and stuffs his hand in his pockets before he sets off for home.


End file.
